


Purple Panic!

by plsnskanks (orphan_account)



Category: Eddsworld - All Media Types
Genre: Dubious Consent, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-13
Updated: 2017-05-20
Packaged: 2018-11-01 18:52:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,078
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10927896
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/plsnskanks
Summary: Tord gets Matt back, in several ways





	1. Chapter 1

He feels his comm vibrate in his pocket just as he finishes briefing two special ops soldiers and sends them off on their mission.

“Hello?” Matt asks, voice smooth, deep calm. After all these years in service to what is essentially a more radical offshoot of the concept of an international police force called M1X, he’s learned to keep a cool head. To keep his emotions under wraps.

“Hello, old friend.” 

That voice has him nearly cracking his comm in two in his bare hand. It sends a tingle of rage up his spine. Rage is a useless emotion. Someone of Matt’s caliber and standing has no use for it. It is only people like Tord who bow to the beast of rage and do its bidding.

And that’s what makes him the target of Matt’s current mission.

“Hello Tord, to what do I owe this call?” Matt says, voice light, cordial, fists balled up, clenched.

“Same reason as every other time, I just want to talk,” comes Tord’s voice, and it’s as if he’s telling a joke. Matt’s heard that very same line out of Tord’s mouth before, on numerous tapes of his countless atrocities. 

His “talks” were prone to end in bloodshed.

“About what exactly?”

“It’s been a while, I haven’t heard from you or Edd in months,” Tord says, and Matt notes the way he says Edd’s name. Like it’s a rancid bit of meat he’s managed to put in his mouth and he’d like to spit it out as soon as possible. 

Matt smiles, and it’s all too genuine as he thinks of his green hooded friend and the absolute carnage he’s wrought through miniscule acts of sabotage. Soldiers refusing to go in tanks whose interiors had been sprayed with cat piss. Fifty mile outage because someone poured bootleg cola on a central power supply. Ammo crates arriving filled entirely with blanks and no one having any idea what happened to the originals. 

All Edd. All hilarious. All Matt’s job to clean up and take advantage of the weak points. Edd was a lone wolf operator with a surprising amount of rebel support backing and mimicking him. 

Matt however was not.

He was the arm of a united world government entity that would use these little openings to bring down a heavy fist which would crack the Red Army wide open.  
“I haven’t seen Edd in years,” Matt said, and it was half true. He’d seen footage of Edd pissing on the Red Insignia just last month. But in the flesh, in the rough, good old Edd. No. Not yet at least. They would work on pinning him down so they could collaborate in the future.

Right now they were working on cutting the head off a very large, very nasty snake.

“A pity isn’t it? We should see each other soon,” Tord says. It sounds genuine. Matt has gone over hundreds of hours of leaked phone calls, and he has gotten a sense of when Tord is lying or leading someone into a trap. In all those hours he’s never heard him speak in such a soft, careful tone of voice. It’s as close as he will probably ever get to hearing the man plead.

Maybe Matt goes soft for the hardened war criminal for a bit.

“Tord….”

“It doesn’t have to be long, or even in person, just for a bit eh? If not for me, for the sake of old times.”

Then there is a sound of wood cracking and Matt has an incoming call and he hangs up. He presses the little red button and it’s easy. Dealing with the fallout of that choice is what is going to be hard. 

“Purple Leader we have apprehended the target. Should we obey the current nation’s request to execute on sight?”

Matt rubs his temple. He’s gotten older and if even possible, he’s gotten softer if the words out of his mouth are anything to go by.

“No. Bring him out alive, execute only if extraction fails. We are to bring him to trial at a global level on charges for numerous atrocities.”

“Orders received and understood, we will be at pick up point in approximately five minutes.”

“Affirmative,” Matt says and closes the comm. He turns, throwing one look at the dormant base snuggled into the mountainside about eighty feet below him. It’s going to be on high alert in about ten minutes if their security and personnel are worth their salt. Maybe a little longer. Tord was apprehended in his private chambers, which is one of a very, very small handful of areas in the base with no cctv.

Matt allows himself to be escorted back into the jeep he arrived in. Their flying down the mountain side, rumbling over rolling rocks and eating up the miles that will put them safely away from the base. They’re still not out of hearing range when distant sirens start shrieking. Matt laughs softly to himself as he can just barely make out the shape of their aircraft on their radar. Then it winks out of existence and Matt relaxes as he listens to the steady radio chatter going on in the background.

It’s a nice night. The stars peek out between the slowly rolling clouds as the skies tilt with the passing time. It’s the nicest night he’s had in years.

Tord is brought into his quarters, missing one of his arms and squeezing one eye shut. They zip tied his other arm to one of the belt loops on his prison uniform. Honestly. Tord could probably rip his hand free if he really tried.

Tord looks up and his good eye widens in surprise and then in rage as he catches sight of Matt. Why does he look so betrayed? So… hurt? Is he really that vulnerable under all those gaudy titles and displays of brute force? Matt doesn’t look at Tord, instead he looks to his soldiers.

“Men, we have a protocol for a reason, he is supposed to be handcuffed to a belt,” Matt chastises. As they go to lead Tord away, he stops them. “Forget it, I can handle him, just don’t let this slip up happen again.”

He waves them off and waits until they leave the room. Then it’s just him and Tord in quiet silence. Tord’s entire body is trembling and shaking with what emotion, he has no clue. Fear? Not likely. Rage? Possibly. Maybe he’s just finally having a nervous breakdown.

Then the shaking stops. 

And Tord laughs.

It’s this long, full belly chuckle, and by the end of it, there’s a single tear leaking down the side of Tord’s face.

“Ach, you know, of all the people I thought would stab me in the back, I would have thought it would have been Tom,” Tord says between gasps of trying to catch his breath.

Matt merely continues to regard him silently.

“So stoic old friend, is this really how you are going to act before you have me hung? Drawn and quartered? Shot? Come on, how are you going to do it, I’m dying to know?” Tord slowly walks over to his desk and leans on his elbow, a freakishly impressive display of balance.

“I am not look to have you killed. You are going on trial and just figuring out what your charges are is going to take months,” Matt says as he flicks an imaginary fleck of just off his desk. He looks up and meets Tord’s stare for the first time. Tord’s eye color is this shade of blue grey Matt has only seen once in his life. He’s seen bullets with similar shades, but none of them have quite the electric quality that Tord’s color does. You look into Tord’s eyes and you feel alive. Or at least, that’s how it used to be.

“Why did you do it?” It’s not a professional question. It’s not the kind of question people like Matt in positions like Matt should be asking.

“You had a nice life, with good friends and were doing a good job at being a decent person, why would you throw this all away,” Matt’s voice is rising and anger is threading through it and he can feel that all encompassing force of rage and hysteria tinging at the edge of his consciousness. All these emotions buried up have resurrected and their ghosts are breathing second wind into old untouched and out of use parts of him.

“I got bored,” Tord says and Matt is reaching across the desk, hauling the man in front of him over it like he’s a rag doll.

“You don’t just kill thousands. Of. People. Because you got bored,” Matt snarls inches away from his face. He knows Tord is playing with him. It’s what he does. He baits people to get a rise out of them and then laughs and belittles their anger. Until it blows up in his face and burns half it off.

Tord laughs and Matt wants to punch him in his good eye. But he’s better than that. Better than Tord. He lets him go. Tord slumps across his desk. He looks up at Matt and Matt looks down at him.

“I’m done with you. I’m done with this. I’ll call in some people and have you escorted to your cell. Have a good life Tord, see you at your trial,” Matt says mechanically as he goes to press the button for his intercom.

What do you know? His earlier assessment is true, Tord rips his hand off his suit and the hand cuff flies free smashing into Matt’s wrist and wrapping around it as Tord frantically reaches for him.

“NO. No. No. You don’t get to do that, you don’t get to throw me away just like everyone eyes did,” Tord snarls, grip tightening on Matt’s wrist, pulling him down so Matt has to stoop to a head above where Tord is lying.

“You of all people don’t get to forget about me,” Tord says and he yanks Matt down further and they’re kissing. More like Tord is mauling his mouth. Matt tries to pull back but Tord refuses to let him go. He breaks the kiss and hauls the man off his desk and pulls him back into his chair.

“You want to give me something to remember? Feeling’s mutual,” Matt growls, and he is grinding himself against Tord rubbing their crotches. He’s gripping him hard enough to give him bruises but Matt couldn’t give less of a fuck. If Tord is feeling any kind of pain he isn’t displaying it, he merely frots down on Matt, tossing his head to throw out a long moan as he gets what he wants. 

He lets out a soft little “Matt”. It’s so tender, so feather light. It just kind of hangs in the air for a minute, and the two of them freeze. Tord looks at him and Matt looks back, and there’s this moment of mutual understanding between them. A kind of requiem for what could have, should have, might have been.

Then the moment is gone and he’s shoving Tord down on the desk, pinning his good arm against his back. He unzips Tord’s prison suit and is pulling it off his shoulders and down his waist. Matt opens his desk drawer and pulls out a bottle of lubricate.

“I see I am not the first to take your desk’s virginity,” Tord quips.

Matt merely responds by thrusting a slicked up finger into Tord followed by a second soon after.

“I see I am not the first to fuck you this week,” Matt snipes back.

Both of them shut up at after than and thank the lord Matt can finish his preparation in silence. He gets little more than the occasional grunt as he finishes He finishes and pulls out his hand, wiping it on Tord’s suit.

“Hope I don’t dirty your desk too much, your esteemed Purple Leader,” Tord snipes as Matt is unzipping his pants. After Matt has covered his cock in lube he plants a hand on his head and then shoves Tord face first into the desk. He smirks as he looks at the man, face mashed against the desk, looking less than fierce in his garish prison jumpsuit and missing a limp.

“Let me know if this is too big for my brave little soldier,” Matt coos as he starts to press in. Tord looks pissed at his snide little dig, but refrains from retorting as he realizes the full extent of what he has gotten himself into. Matt is large. Really, really large and wide. It’s a stretch even for someone who likes sex as much as Tord does and Matt starts at a rough pace almost immediately, without warning.

It’s heavy and hot and Matt is gripping his good arm like it’s a handlebar, pinning Tord down and limiting his range of movement. It’s just the hard desk in front of him and the hard dick behind him that Tord is feeling. And you know, despite being kidnapped and getting informed he’s to stand trial for war crimes, today’s looking pretty good.

Tord knows how to find the sunny spot in a deluge of shit.

He’s moaning and letting himself drool against the desk because he knows Matt will be loath to clean it up later. And Matt just has at him, and man can he go for what feels like an eternity. He rubs up against all these areas in Tord that would have him writhing if he was able to and then Tord comes, it his one of Matt’s desk draws and lands on the floor. Just more clean up for Matt.

“All these years and still no self-restraint huh?”

“What can I say, it’s always been hard to control myself around you,” Tord says with a grin.

Matt lowers himself over Tord still keeping up his pace, fucking Tord past the peak of overstimulation. He’s wincing now at every thrust but Matt isn’t going to stop until he asks for it. Maybe even begs.

“How much longer are you going to use me as an excuse for your shitty behavior?” he punctuates that question with an especially hard thrust.

“How much longer are you going to tolerate it?” Tord manages to get out. He wants to ask Matt to stop. But he also knows Matt wants him to want that. He wants a display of weakness, for Tord to roll on his belly and beg for mercy. Fuck that. Even without his getup and arm he’s still got pride. It’s the only thing he’s got now.

“I don’t tolerate shit from you,” Matt snarls and maybe Tord’s hit too many raw nerves today because those are nails digging into his arm hard enough to bleed and he thinks his upper thighs might be getting bruises from knocking into the desk over and over again. Fuck him he’s come around full swing and he doesn’t know if he is getting hard again or something, but that feeling of it all being too much is starting to turn to a prickly sort of pleasure.

“You say that,” Tord starts, allowing himself a breather before continuing, “but here we are.”

At long last Matt is coming and finally Tord feels that iron grip let off a bit. He pulls his arm around to look at it. Little pink crescents are filling up with blood. Not a lot, just enough to line the surface of the dent. Matt pulls out a box of wipes and Tord grits his teeth as he has his aching parts wiped down with antiseptic. 

Matt pulls his suit back up and zips it. None of the bruises, claw marks, etcetera are visible. Matt wets a finger and smooths out a stray lick of hair and brushes down the side of Tord’s hair that had been rubbing against his desk.

“Let’s hope they don’t give you the death penalty.”

“If you think my men will let me stay here long enough to make it to trial, you’re vastly underestimating your enemy,” Tord smiles, poking Matt’s cheek. Then he grips him roughly by the chine. “Don’t do that Matt, that will get you killed.”

Matt slaps his hand away and glares at Tord.

“I can handle myself thank you, get off my desk and stand at attention in front of it,” Matt commands. 

“Bossy, I like that,” Tord says as he hops off Matt’s desk. He really does have this odd sort of feline grace. Never seeming to be off balance despite the situation.  
Tord stands in front of Matt’s desk and he presses the intercom calling in two guards to come get him. Just before the door opens, Tord turns to look back at Matt.

“I’ll be visiting you again real soon. It really has been far too long.” Tord gives the ominous statement as a sort of farewell.

Before Matt can respond the guards come in and seize Tord turning him around and leading him out. Out of Matt’s office. Out of Matt’s sight.   
Not out of Matt’s mind.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tord gets Matt back, in several ways

Matt should have expected this. He should have known something like this was coming and prepared for it. Because, after all, this is Tord, and what Tord does best is be a nuisance.

They have Tord for less than a week. He hasn’t gone to trial yet because handling this sort of thing is always a huge mess of bureaucratic bullshit and rank pulling and infighting and-

It’s just a mess.

A mess that gets ten times worse when their spotters detect movement of the Red Army forces coming from the south. Then that mess turns into full blow panic as they scramble to pull together allied forces and gear up for a battle on home turf.

A battle that never comes. Not really. While they are watching the slow roll of T-34’s and deciding what approach to take in the board room, Matt goes to see Tord in his cell. 

What he gets instead is Tord out of his cell and a loaded gun pointed in his face. Actually, three, three loaded guns, because Tord’s two commanding in chief officers are with him. The short haired one with the bushy eyebrows, Paul, flawless record except for one excessive violence ding that apparently ended in a Red Army fatality. Proficient in close range armed combat and leading highly experienced squads on delicate missions. Figures he would be here. The other one is Patryk. The snake in the grass. Thin and wavery with soft eyes. Looks like he doesn’t belong on the field. 

Looks like being the key phrase.

With the single highest assassination count of anyone on any side, Patryk has the highest bounty on his head, easily. He’s killed diplomats, ambassadors, fucking snagged the president of a territory that now belongs to the Red Army’s control. Proficient in long range arms, close range melee. 

Matt realizes he is going to die here as he mentally recounts these two files in his head. He’s cornered. He’s fucked. There is no way Tord is going to show him any sort of mercy. After what he did. After all their history.

“Right, so, how are we doing this, do I put my hands on the wall, back to you, or do you want to see the look on my face when you kill me?” The words come out calm. Even. Matt is thinking about how he’s never going to see Edd or Tom again and he’ll never admit it but his words come out a little less biting than he would usually have them.

Tord laughs, and pulls the gun out of his face, “We aren’t here to kill you . You actually saved your men a lot of casualties by coming down here to check on me. I’m touched by the way. I’ll have you know I am very afraid of the dark and your prison guards wouldn’t accept my request for a nightlight.”

Here he is, one armed, in dirty prison clothes yet still standing with the posture of a king sitting atop his golden throne. Matt despises how proud he is to have power, no matter what form he gets it in.

“I’d rather you just kill me, if I am being very frank,” Matt says through gritted teeth. He can’t stand looking at Tord so he opts to look at Paul’s boots instead. He gets a hand gripping his chin roughly for his efforts.

“Oh no. If you think I am going to let this go so easily, you haven’t been doing a good job reading my files,” Tord says as he grips Matt’s chin tighter. He stares Matt down for a minute and Matt can see it. The promise of cold fury unleashed as soon as they are alone together. He feels too exhausted with this war to even be afraid of that kind of thing anymore.

“Tord, we have to leave, your running out our grace period as usual,” Patryk says. Tord nods and signals to Paul. Matt finds himself slung over his shoulder and the three of them are moving off at a brisk trot. As they move down the hallway figures come out of the shadows to join them.

Matt realizes a conversation he thought he was having with three other people was actually one that was held amongst thirty. They have a phalanx of bodies in front of them as they continue to move. Matt notes the hunched shadows in the corners as they passed.

“Those men had families,” he snarls into Paul’s ear.

Paul responds and his voice is just like it is on the leaked phone calls. Smooth, deep, with this soft rumble to it, “Relax, they aren’t dead, just knocked out. We only kill when necessary, no fatalities yet this mission, and if you keep your mouth shut, do as we say, and luck is on our side, things can stay that way.”

They are out down winding hallways and Matt shudders to think of how they know how to navigate his base so well. He is mentally tracking their path through the base and he realizes where they are headed. His private hangar. Shit.

They are almost there, just a hundred meters away, when they round the corner and are greeted by a wall of about twenty armed men. Immediately Matt is being set down and pushed to the front of their group, Tord pressing his gun against his temple.

“Stand down, we have your leader and I am not afraid to execute him.”

The men waver in their resolve. Matt can tell in the minute dipping of their guns. 

 

“No he won’t,” Matt says. Tord looks at him with this odd expression. It is neither angry nor agitated, just a placid expression of mild interest.

“He won’t kill me, he is bluffing,” Matt says and Tord grins at him. That has him nervous. He can see every one of his white teeth and there is no hint of fear on his face. Paul leans forward , head just above Matt’s shoulder and speaks.

“If you want these men to go home to their families, you will order them to stand down. We can and will execute these men with little to no casualties, of that I can assure you.”

Matt looks at them. His eyes catch on one of the men towards the center. His hands are shaking. His gun is moving up and down in quiet tremors. He looks at the man’s eyes. He can’t be more than twenty. He should be in university. Not about to die here.

“Stand down. That’s an order, anyone who disobeys is at risk for treason,” Matt calls after a moment of quiet thought. The guns drop, slowly, one by one. 

“Move aside,” Matt barks. The red sea parts and their group moves forward. Matt dials the access code and the hangar doors open. His hangar holds a small aircraft capable of carrying small payloads and about five passengers. Matt finds himself being shoved inside as Paul and Patryk follow in behind him. Patryk takes the pilot seat while Paul straps Matt into one of the passenger seats. He pulls out a pair of cuffs and cuffs Matt’s hands in front of him. There are two more available seats after Paul joins Patryk upfront. One is on the other side of the plane and the other is next to Matt. 

Matt prays Tord sits as far away from him as possible. No such luck. He is not only sitting in the seat next to him, he is practically in Matt’s lap.

“Tord I request you sit in your seat appropriately and put on your belt,” Patryk said as he started to move the plane forward, flicking switches as Paul radioed the men on the ground to open the hangar door. It pulls up slowly revealing the black night and Matt’s stomach drops as he realizes that everything they had planned meticulously over the course of two years has just gone down the gutter.

Not only that but Tord, once again, is the one coming out a victor while Matt’s entire intelligence operation looks the fool. Losing your commander to the very target you just captured a week ago. Maybe Matt should have just goaded Tord into shooting him. 

He is infinitely relieved when Tord listens to his second in command and gets out of Matt’s lap, buckling himself in and throwing Matt a small smile. Matt just ignores him and lets his thoughts drift as the plane takes off. He watches clouds pass by, soaked in moonlight, passing peacefully under them. They’re also obscuring any change anyone on the ground has of spotting them. After a few hours they are landing, and Matt is once again lead off the plane, this time by Tord who tugs gently at his handcuffs.

Matt tries not to think about how much this situation makes him feel like a dog on a leash. They walk for about a mile and over the course of that mile Matt realizes they are near the ocean. He can smell the salt and hear the crash of waves as it gets louder and louder. Then his boots touch soft sand and it hits Matt for the first time that he has no clue where he is and where he is going. He starts to lose his collected composure.

“Tord I swear to god, please just shoot me. Don’t fucking do what those shitty countries in the eighties did. I would much rather be shot than drown,” Matt said. Tord doesn’t respond. He stops walking and when Tord tugs at his cuffs he refuses to move an inch more.

“I’m not helping you do this,” Matt said.

Tord rounds on him exasperated, “ We already discussed this, I am not killing you. We can’t bring you back to the old base because it is now no longer strategically viable, which we now know thanks to your little stunt. Get on the fucking boat.”

Tord flings his arm to a quiet shadow sitting in the water that he hadn’t noticed before. Relief floods through him and Matt admits to himself that yes, even he is still afraid to die. He gets on the boat, wading into the water waist deep. It is about the size of a speed boat, hell it might even be one. Tord, Paul and Patryk get on and the latter two help Matt get up with his cuffed wrists. As soon as he is inside and seated they are off, ripping across the waves as they journey out into the deep ocean.

Matt feels the wind running through his hair as he watches the waves skip by underneath them. It reminds him of that night a week ago, only now the situation is reversed. There’s no pride, joy, light-heartedness. Just shame and fear.

He’s grown used to those emotions though, it’s nothing new.

“So where did you end up putting my arm?” Tord asks him.

“Why does it matter?”

“Humor me.”

“In a vault with other sensitive material. We were planning to run materials tests on it and get a look at the technology.”

“And how often to do you check that vault?”

“What are you getting at?” Matt says slowly, turning to look at Tord, who is looking disgustingly pleased with himself.

“We remotely detonated that arm the day after it came into your custody and I was wondering why you hadn’t brought it up yet.”

Tord laughs as the color completely drains from Matt’s face.

“You complete ass! You destroyed evidence we were planning to use to indict criminals in cases outside of yours,” Matt shouted. The longer he was around Tord the shorter he could feel his temper growing. No one else did this to him. No one else was this insidious and this proficient at being a pest.

Tord leaned back and grinned, “Call it payback, your men destroyed my office and shredded a lot of important docs on their way out.”

“I didn’t command them to do that, it’s part of protocol,” Matt said as he looked down sullenly, jingling his hand cuffs, pulling them apart to test their resolve.

“Same could be said about my arm, if it doesn’t have a pulse for seventy two or more hours it initiates the self-destruct sequence itself. Just consider it a good blessing that no one was holding it while it went off.” 

Matt flips him the bird with one of his cuffed hands. It’s all he can do. He’s a shade of livid that has his face turning red and he knows if he speaks the syllables are going to turn cracked and high pitched at the ends. Pathetic. Losing his composure. Pathetic. Getting caught here, letting Tord have his way again.

Pathetic.

That word is on repeat in Matt’s head as they stop the boat in the dead middle of nowhere. Or at least it seems like it is. Fog is everywhere in the eerily quiet vacant waste. Matt is getting soaked and shivering. Tord goes to touch him but he glares at him until he thinks better of it.

Good to see Tord’s common sense is at least partially intact.

Then the fog seems to clear miraculously as if someone had pulled a current and Matt is faced with a gargantuan war ship. A platform is lowered down and they all load onto it. Matt watches the boat they were previously in dwindle away as they rise higher and higher.

“You guys really aren’t just some peanut operation are you?” he says, trying to keep the wonder out of his voice. It is impressive though. The Red Army basically spawned out of infighting amongst a rogue communist regime and only under Tord’s brutality it seems, did it fully blossom into something prosperous.

“Where do we take him?” Patryk asked Tord as he turned to head in the opposite direction.

“Just put him in my quarters, hand cuff him to a chair or something so he doesn’t wander out,” Tord says dismissively.

“Where are you going?” Matt calls to him. He absolutely wants to garrote Tord with his hand cuffs at the smug look on his face. 

“I’m just going to get my arm back, don’t worry dear, I’ll spend plent of time with you later,” Tord says before turning and stalking off out of sight. Matt finds himself gripped on either side by Paul and Patryk. They start walking.

“You know, your esteemed Red Leader used to eat glue sticks when he was little, he got put in timeout almost weekly for it,” Matt said conversationally. He’s about seven different levels of fucked so he feels he might as well get his snide little digs in now.

Patryk gives him a sideway glance, “If you are trying to inform his second in command how incompetent Tord can be at making good decisions, it’s a moot point.”

Paul snorts beside him, “Yeah, he didn’t even lose his arm in the explosion. Not fully at least. He forced someone in the med bay to amputate it and when we went to try and reattach it, he got a hold of his limb and put it in the garbage disposal. We know how Tord is, thanks for the fair warning though.” 

They bring him to an ornate door and Paul pulls out a key ring, unlocking it. When they get inside they do as Tord requested and handcuff him to a chair, which is unfortunately, bolted to the floor. Matt tries pulling at it to see if it will give, but has no luck.

He is still trying to figure out a way to free himself when the door unlocks and in comes Tord with two arms and a look that spells misery for anyone within reach. He kicks the door shut and locks it. Matt sits stock still, waiting for Tord to speak or move.

“Funny how situations flip isn’t it?” Tord says as he sits on the bed in front of Matt.

“I find nothing humorous about this situation,” Matt deadpans, looking at Tord through lidded eyes.

“Neither do I actually. You stabbed me in the back old friend,” Tord said, and the words are cold as the metallic glint on his arm.

Tord comes closer to him and Matt feels hard metal on his throat. Tord can probably feel him swallow. “You fault me for being cold. For being heartless. How do those words taste when you say them?”

“On point and accurate,” Matt states blandly.

“What is it going to take to get a reaction out of you? Should I do the things that used to provoke you?” Tord says as he slides a hand up Matt’s leg. Matt tries to remain stoic as he feels Tord’s metal hand move up to fondle his crotch. He tries to act like isn’t starting to sweat under these close he has been wearing for god knows how long now.

Tord sits in his lap and looks at him evenly, “Now tell me, who’s my brave soldier?”

That gets him. That gets him good. Matt is baring his teeth at Tord as he smirks meanly back at him and he’s trying, trying hard not to gasp as Tord is biting down hard on the side of his neck, fingers trailing gently on the other side, trailing up to feel his pulse. Matt tries to keep himself together. But as Tord works at his neck, one of the most sensitive areas on his body and he knows it, he can feel himself coming undone.

He is slowly slumping down into the chair as Tord sucks and bites at his neck. It’s going to look horrific tomorrow he knows. Whatever he did to Tord last week is coming back double fold. Because Tord never gets even. Even is never enough. Disproportionate revenge at its finest, embodied in Tord.

“Look at you, you can put on all these airs and act like your better than me, act like you are above me, but in the end no matter how high you climb, your place is still under me,” Tord says as he starts to divest Matt of his coat. He uncuffs his hand so he can fully slide it off, then slides a hand under his shirt and roughly pinches Matt’s nipple.

“Isn’t that right, Purple Leader,” Tord says, sarcasm and condescension dripping down and eating away at Matt’s resolve like acid. It always ends up like this. Getting pinned down by him and forced to be putty, molded and shaped into the object Tord wants him to be. The one that best fits his use.

He takes off Matt’s shirt and uses it to tie his hands together behind his back. Matt glares at him silently as he does so and when he thinks Tord’s attention is faltering, he tries to rip a hand free. Only to get a metal grip forcing both his hands together as Tord’s organic hand goes to tie secure them together.

“If you want an out, why don’t you call me by my title, call me Red Leader and we can skip all this. I keep you as a POW until the war is over and then I let you off,” Tord proposes. 

“Your rightful title is none and your rightful place is the gallows,” Matt informs him.

“Fine, if that’s how you want it, that’s how you’ll have it,” Tord says as he starts to pull down Matt’s pants. He shoves two fingers in Matt’s mouth and immediately Tord hears the clink of enamel meeting metal.

“Don’t do that pretty boy, you have a nice smile, I’d like you to keep it,” Tord says as he withdraws his fingers. Matt shudders at the old nickname. This is going to go very south, very fast if Tord is going to abuse that type of thing.

Tord trails a wet finger around Matt’s entrance before pushing it up and curling. They haven’t done anything in years, aside from last week, yet Tord plays him like they’ve been fucking daily since the war started. He is rubbing places inside him that make him want to unleash all sorts of ungodly noises.

Instead he tries his best to keep them muffled if he lets them escape at all. Then Tord slicks up his other hand and starts to stroke his cock. Matt knows he’s done when Tord opens his mouth.

“Why don’t we see if you are just as vain as you always were? Eh, pretty boy? Look at you and your gorgeous little freckles, you don’t look like you’ve changed a bit since I last saw you, still soft and beautiful,” Tord coos as he pinches a bit of skin on Matt’s side. The moan comes out and Matt doesn’t even realize it’s from him until Tord is grinning up at him.

“There we go, that’s more like it. You have a nice ass huh, I bet every one of your soldiers wanted you under them, singing their name like you were born to do. But you don’t sing for just anyone do you?” Tord said and Matt hears the pop of a bottle of lube and he hates himself as he grinds down on the two fingers that enter him.

“No, no you don’t,” Tord answers his own question. Matt feels the fingers leave him and hears the unzipping of pants and then there’s that pressure.

“Now, tell me, who’s my brave soldier,” Tord says. Matt remains silent. He sighs and adjusts himself so he is seated between Matt’s cheeks as he ruts up into him. His metal hand is down around his dick, thumb pressing on his slit hard enough to be painful. He moves down and starts to jerk Matt off as he whispers snippets of praise and compliments. They are empty flattery but they have Matt panting and wanton. He is completely slumped into the chair.

His suit was pressed this morning. It now lays crumpled and stained around his ankles, along with his rank and his dignity. 

“Matt, tell me, who is my brave soldier?” Tord says as he rubs the head of his cock against Matt’s rim, teasing and then pulling away. It’s driving him mad, tying him in knots and riling him up with no pay off. Matt wants praise, he wants a reward, he wants validation. He craves it, he needs it.

Why did he ever think he could be a suitable leader?

“I-Iam, it’s me,” he whimpers, voice cracking.

A warm hand curls through his hair as Tord pushes in. 

“Yes, yes you are, good boy, very good,” Tord says. He starts to push in and it’s slow and gentle, he pushes in and tells Matt how pretty he is, what a good, clever boy he is. He pulls out and tells him how good he looks on his cock. He stokes his chest, rubbing tenderly at his pecs and nipples, before sliding his hand up to play with strands of hair at the nape of his neck, tugging them gently in a way that makes Matt shiver.

Matt is having a nice time, enjoying himself, enjoying Tord, when the pace shifts and there is a hand around his cock, gripping him tight enough to be painful. Matt finds himself shoved out of the chair and onto the ground, face on the floor as he can do nothing to push himself off of it with his hands bound behind him. Tord is back inside him and the pace is harder now, rougher, with that damned metal hand still gripping his dick like it’s a joystick he can use to steer Matt’s entire body, because, well, it is.

“Who is my brave soldier?”

“It’s me?” Matt asks, confused and startled by the change of pace. He just wants Tord to go back to being nice to him. To being pleased with him. To liking him.

“And who do you obey?” Tord growls as he pushes in and Matt’s face is mashed into the floor, his cheek being shoved up so he can only see out of one eye.

“You,” Matt says.

“Who,” Tord says as he grabs a fistful of mats hair and yanks back hard so Matt is bowing his back and bucking his hips, “is you?”

“Red Leader, ah god please,” Matt moans.

“Cum,” it’s a short sharp command that is followed by the release of his dick from that iron grip and Matt is coming on the floor which has been freshly mopped by his face and his drool. Matt is still panting hard as Tord pulls out and forces him up. As Matt looks up at him on his knees, Tord jacks himself off, smiling broadly down at Matt.

“Open. Tongue out,” He commands. Matt obeys. He feels a splatter of salt and tang on his tongue and across his face. Tord tucks himself back in and knees down to Matt’s level, he grips his over sensitive cock and strokes it, ignoring Matt’s soft whimpers.

“What a good Purple Leader you have turned out to be after all, I have a lot more use for you, rest assured,” Tord says and he lets Matt go, turning on his heel and leaving him there, soiled and cum soaked.


End file.
